


The Dixon Girl

by Laitie



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 16:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16706074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laitie/pseuds/Laitie
Summary: Playboy ward of Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, wasn’t looking to fall in love when he began researching the unusual Dixon family one Fall. Never before, however, had he met a more down-to-Earth, hard-to-impress woman whose main interest was watching out for her own family. Follow Grayson as he maneuvers through the Dixons and their beliefs on love, life, and magic.





	The Dixon Girl

**Author's Note:**

> For DCU BANG! Cover and playlist done by the amazing Dazebras at the following link. http://dazebras.tumblr.com/post/180246694827/accompanies-ladylaities-fic-for-dcubang-2018

They hadn’t meant to find the boy. They hadn’t known there were any captives. It was the security cameras that tipped them off that there was a child somewhere in the building. They searched and searched, and Robin finally found him in a closet. Now, a couple nights after the raid on Roger Coleman’s base of illegal operations, Nightwing sat in the shadows of the base, waiting.

There he was, walking towards one of the theta tubes. Now, the theta tube would not recognize him to let him go anywhere. They hadn’t programmed him into they system yet for this very reason. But the point was that Nightwing didn’t want the boy thinking that running away from them was a good choice.

So he silently came up behind him, waiting for him to get so close to touching a button before speaking.

“That’s not a very good idea, Sven,” he said.

Sven spun around, swinging his right fist. Nightwing caught it in his hand and didn’t let go, crouching down to the boy’s height. The boy seemed to be around seven or eight years old, though he had proven that he was beyond his years in intelligence. His left wrist was in a cast, his pale fingers laced in the sandals he had removed to help him walk the floors of the base silently. His black hair was long and messy from months of neglect. His eyes were strikingly bright blue, almost glowing in the darkness. 

Sven struggled uselessly against his grip. “Let me go,” he grumbled. Those were probably the most words he had strung together since they found him. 

“Sorry,”Nightwing said. “But I don’t want you to run. We need to talk.”

Sven just scowled at him. Nightwing sighed and used his free hand to gesture to Robin to pull up the computer screen. It came up, and the image on it was frozen on a scene of Sven sitting up on a table in Coleman’s headquarters. There were two men in the room with him, one acting like a guard while the other was finishing patching up Sven’s cast with the expertise of a medical doctor. Then it began to play. 

There was no sound, but Sven was glad of that. He didn’t want to be reminded any more of the nasty things that doctor had said about him with him right there. 

They watched as the doctor complained to the guard, barely paying attention to what he was doing. Suddenly, he looked up at nothing and his eyes went wide. His mouth opened and he backed up. He was stuttering something. The guard looked at him like he was crazy. The doctor turned and ran, screaming. But he couldn’t get out of the room. It was like he had forgotten where the door was. He ran around the room, terrified of nothing. More guards came in, and it took four of them to wrestle the doctor to the ground and contain him.

The whole time, Sven had been staring at the doctor, too. But he had been smirking.

“What’d you do to him?” Nightwing asked.

Sven shrugged. 

“Sven, tell me. What happened to Dr. Byrd?”

Again, Sven shrugged. 

Nightwing sighed. “This is unacceptable,” he informed the boy. “The doctors say Dr. Byrd is going to be in psychiatric care for life. He’s terrified of his own shadow.”

“Good,” Sven said, fighting back a smirk. 

“Not good,” Nightwing said. “Listen, I should send you to STAR Labs for doing that,”he said. “Especially since you aren’t even speaking to us. But I want to give you more of a chance to cooperate.”

Sven frowned at Nightwing, silently daring the man to send him away to a lab. 

Then, slowly, Nightwing began to realize that he wasn’t at the base anymore. His surroundings changed. The air was hot. Oppressively hot. He gazed around. The ground was rocky. He looked back at Sven, but he wasn’t holding Sven’s fist anymore. He was holding a mound of rock. A melting mound of rock. He felt the molten rock sear his hand and he quickly pulled away. He stared around again, nursing his hand. What the Hell was going on?

“No!” It seemed that the cry brought him back to reality. He was back at base, his hand felt fine, and several of his colleagues were scattered about the room. Miss Martian was holding the boy in her arms, unbothered by his struggling against her. “Let me go!” he went on.

“You OK?”Aqualad asked Nightwing. He looked over at his friend, still confused. But he nodded and went back to business.

“What happened?” Cassie asked. 

“Sven was doing something to him,” Miss Martian said. “I don’t know what, but it was psychological.”

“It’s over,” Nightwing said. “How’d you stop him?”

“When you let go, he ran,” Miss Martian said. “I grabbed him, and that seemed to stop his concentration.”

“Put me down!” Sven demanded, clawing at Miss Martian’s arms. 

“Not unless you promise not to do that again,” Miss Martian said.

“I’ll do it to you!” he threatened. 

“That’s enough,” Nightwing said, walking towards them. “It’s late. And you have a lot to think about,” he told the boy. “Miss Martian’s going to take you back to bed. And you’re not sneaking out again.”

“You can’t stop me!” Sven said stubbornly.

Nightwing smirked. “Wanna bet?” 

That night was a long one for Nightwing. He had been in charge of watching Sven that night. In charge of listening to his screaming and yelling and pounding on the locked door. His shift ended at 3am, and he was glad to be headed home.  
\----  
He was in Gotham when he saw a flash of light a few blocks away from the theta tube. He almost chose to ignore it. But he was Nightwing. He couldn’t ignore it. So off he ran.

The scene that met his eyes as he exited the alley was unsettling, but not too worrisome. On one side of the street stood Klarion and Teekl, the witch-boy looking very annoyed as the young woman on the other side of the street was screaming at him.

“WHERE THE HELL IS HE YOU LITTLE BRAT!?” the woman on the other side of the street was screaming. Nightwing didn’t recognize her. She had brown hair tied up in a bun and wore what looked like a workout outfit. Her skin was pale, and her blue eyes almost glowed in the darkness. Wait, hadn’t he seen those eyes before?

“That’s for me to know and you to find out!” Klarion retorted. 

“YOU NASTY LITTLE-- WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?” Her eyes locked on Nightwing and bore into his very being. Before he could respond, Klarion saw him and scowled even more.

“Now all the fun’s over!” Klarion declared. 

“DON’T YOU DARE--” That was all the woman had time to say before Klarion opened a portal and disappeared into it with Teekl. “Thanks,” the woman said sarcastically to Nightwing before bending down and picking up a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed before. Nightwing approached her. 

“Are you OK?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Do I look hurt?”

“What was going on here?”

“None of your business,” she said. 

“Actually, it is my business,” he said. “It’s my job to keep this city safe.”

She sighed. “Oh, you’re one of those super-people I’ve heard about, aren’t you?” she asked.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean?”

“Like, people with magic powers or super abilities or whatever.”

He chuckled. “A few of my colleagues have...unusual characteristics,” he said, “but I suppose people do call us super-heroes.”

“Yeah, you supers,” she said with a nod, shouldering her back. “Fuck you guys.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nightwing said as she took a step away. “I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Pissing Klarion off isn’t exactly playtime,” Nightwing went on.

“Pissing me off isn’t, either,” she said. “And you’re doing a pretty good job of it. Now, it’s 3am. I’ve been rehearsing all night. I’m exhausted, and just want to go home. So get out of my face before I give you exactly what I was going to give that brat demon-child.”

Nightwing couldn’t help but smirk at the absurdity. “And what would that be?”

She scowled before mumbling in a strange language. Before he knew it, a hard fist of nothing hit him square in the chest so hard that he banged into the wall behind him. The wind flew out of him in a rush at the force and speed. When he finally caught his breath again, the woman was gone. What...on Earth?

Despite himself, he chuckled. He couldn’t help but admit that whatever she had just done to him, he asked for it.  
\----  
Dick Grayson didn’t wake the next morning until 11am. Bruce had already gone to work, and Alfred was somewhere around the house cleaning. But that was fine, Grayson wasn’t really in the mood for talking.

He couldn’t stop thinking back on what the boy had done to him last night. How had Sven gotten so far into his mind so quickly and easily? It was like Grayson had no mental defenses. Not against him, anyway. That worried him. What else could the boy do?

Sven obviously knew his own power pretty well. Could control it well. But he used it for personal gain. If Nightwing couldn’t get this boy straightened out, he could be the cause of so much disaster and destruction. He couldn’t let that happen. 

But how to get through to him?

Suddenly, the image of the woman from last night popped into his mind. Now that he thought back on it, he realized how very pretty she was. Gorgeous, really. Not that he hadn’t noticed when they met. It was just that there were more important things to attend to at the time. And her eyes...

Her eyes! 

They were just like Sven’s! 

She had been asking Klarion where “he” was. Maybe they were related? Maybe she had been looking for Sven? It was worth looking into.

He made it to the base by noon, re-invigorated with his new approach. When he walked into the living-quarters, Sven was sitting at the kitchen table with Miss Martian eating mac and cheese.

“Hey,” Nightwing said to them, his tone calm and welcoming.

“Hi,” Miss Martian said with a grin. 

Sven, as expected, didn’t respond. 

“Do you want some macaroni and cheese?” Miss Martian asked Nightwing, nodding to the huge bowl of it on the counter. “I, uh, made a little too much.”

Nighting chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, grabbing a bowl. “I’d love some. Thanks.” He whistled cheerfully as he spooned the mac and cheese into his bowl.

“You’re in a good mood,” Miss Martian pointed out. 

“I am,” Nightwing said, sitting down beside Sven. “I met Sven’s mom.”

Sven choked on his food, but otherwise refused to respond.

“You did!?” Miss Martian asked.

“I did,” Nightwing said with a nod before biting into his food.

“Well...where is she?” she asked.

“At home,” Nightwing said. He looked over at Sven. “She’s been really worried about you.”

Sven almost seemed to relax at that. Nightwing and Miss Martian shared a look. 

“So...we’re going to take him home?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Nightwing replied. “I talked with your mom, Sven,” he went on. “She told me how dangerous your powers are. She agreed that you need help.”

Sven shook his head before taking another bite. 

The two adults shared another look. 

“Don’t you want to go home and see your poor mom?” Miss Martian asked.

“She doesn’t miss me,” Sven stated.

“She does,” Nightwing assured him. “She was--”

“She doesn’t,” Sven insisted. “And if she did, she wouldn’t have told you a thing about it.” He took another bite of his mac and cheese. “You’re a liar,” he said through his full mouth. “You didn’t meet my mom.”

“She was looking for you,” Nightwing urged.

“She already knows where I am,” Sven said.

“No mother would just not want to come pick up her son after he was kidnapped,” Miss Martian said. “Would she?”

“My mom doesn’t care,” Sven assured them.

Nightwing frowned. While this was the most they had managed to get Sven to speak this whole week, they still weren’t really getting anywhere. “I did meet your mom,” he said. “She was facing off against Klarion. She was asking him where you were.”

Sven shook his head. “She doesn’t care,” he insisted. 

“She has your eyes.”

Sven shook his head.

“And brown hair,” Nightwing went on.

Again, Sven shook his head. 

Nightwing sighed. “She has magic,”he said.

“That’s not my mom,” Sven said. 

“Your aunt, then,” Nightwing pressed.

Yet again, Sven shook his head.

Nightwing sighed. This wasn’t going to work. He would have to find the woman from last night--his mother, he assumed--and bring him to her. After informing her of his need to keep a close eye on him. To his great surprise, however, she found him. 

It was 1 am. He was coming home from a mission, still in uniform. He had a plan to change back into civies once he reached the “abandoned” building he kept his things in. What wasn’t part of his plan, however, was the woman from last night standing around the corner, waiting for him. It was so sudden he almost ran into her. Her blue eyes were boring into him like they had been last night.

“Where’s my brother?” she demanded.

Half an hour later, Miss Martian, Sven, Grayson, and the woman were standing in the alley, the woman’s kneeling in front of the boy, checking him over. “How’d you break your wrist?” she was asking him.

“Coleman.”

“What else is hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You’re grounded for life.”

“WHAT!? You can’t do that! You’re my sister, not Mom!”

“I’m your older sister. And Mother won’t do it. So I will.”

“That’s not how it works!” 

The woman ignored him and turned to Nightwing. “So, I do have to apologize,” the woman admitted. “I’m sorry I was so rude to you last night. And thank you for rescuing and caring for my brother.”

“Apology accepted,” Nightwing said. “Now, is there somewhere more private we can talk? We need to discuss a few things.”

“Uhm, no,” the woman said. “This conversation is over.”

“Miss, it’s really important,” Nightwing said. “Your brother has...well...”

“I know,” the woman said. “And as I said, this conversation is over.” She took Sven’s shoulder and began leading him away. 

“Miss, please,” Nightwing said. Before he really thought about it, he reached out and took her arm. She froze.

Nightwing stared at his hand on her arm a moment before quickly pulling it away. “We can’t just let you guys go,” he said solemnly. “Your brother...can be very dangerous.” 

Sven looked up at his sister as she remained standing there, her back to them. Finally, she sighed. “Meet me at my apartment,” she said quietly. She reached into her pocket, turned, and handed him a business card. “One hour.” With that, brother and sister walked off.  
Nightwing glanced down at the card. “Bridget Dixon,” it read. “Owner. Bridget’s Starrs Dance Company.” It listed off the address of her dance studio as well as the studio’s contact information. He slipped the card in a pocket and turned to Miss Martian. 

“Want me to go with you?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I have a weird feeling we just opened ourselves a big can of worms.”

“What?” Miss Martian asked.

He chuckled. “Nevermind.” 

They reached Bridget’s apartment around 2:30 AM. Through the window. Bridget was in her living room, her back to them, when she spoke.

“You know, you could have been like normal, polite people and knocked on the door,” she said.

“Sorry,” Miss Martian said, blushing.

“Force of habit,” Nightwing said with a small grin. “Now, about your brother--”

“He has abilities,” Bridget said. “What did he do to you?” She looked over at them. “Do I need to ground him for eternity?”

“That’s up to you,” Nightwing said. “But he did put someone in the hospital.”

Bridget sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“But it sounds like you’re...trying to teach him better?” Miss Martian offered. 

“I’m not much of an influence on him,” Bridget said. “Like he said, our mother will not enforce whatever punishment I put on him.”

“Why not?” Miss Martian asked, stepping closer. 

Bridget smirked. “You kept Sven for over a week,” she said. “Why did it take you so long to send him home?”

There was a moment of silence as Miss Martian and Nightwing debated about how much to tell her. 

“You already know why, don’t you?” he said.

Bridget shrugged with a smirk. “I know my brother isn’t exactly cooperative. I just can’t believe you couldn’t find him with his description.” 

“Yeah, it was weird,” Nightwing said, not fully believing her. He came up closer and sat down beside her. “So, what exactly is your family like?”

“Hmm?” she asked, looking over at him with a grin. “Oh, you don’t want to know.”

“I do, actually,” he countered. 

“Well, quite the shame, then, isn’t it?”

“Quite.” 

There was silence again as they stared each other down. Eventually, Miss Martian broke it. 

“So, we’ll be keeping tabs on Sven,” she said.

“Not likely,” Bridget said, finally looking away from Nightwing to acknowledge Miss Martian.

“Very likely,” Nightwing said.

“You go near my brother ever again,” Bridget threatened, looking back at him, “you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

Nightwing couldn’t help but grin. “Is that a threat?” he asked.

“There’s a phrase that many people have learned to heed,” Bridget told them. “Don’t mess with the Dixons.”

“Why not?” Miss Martian asked, oh, so innocent.

She looked over at the martian with a grin. “Those that do always get what’s coming to them.” She stood. “This conversation is over. Please leave my apartment. Now.”

Reluctantly, Miss Martian and Nightwing obliged, leaving out the window they had come in. There was nothing more they could do. It wasn’t like she had done anything illegal. That they knew about. 

After he and Miss Martian parted ways for the last time that night, Nightwing reached into his pocket and pulled out Bridget’s card. He realized he had a sudden interest in learning how to dance.  
\---  
The next couple days were devoted to research. It was quite unsettling how hard it was to find anything on the Dixons. The further he got into searching into the family, the more and more vague and scattered the information became. Until he found himself reading up on a Chandra Dixon that had walked with Gandhi. There was no way she was related to Bridget and Sven. 

What he did find, however, was Bridget and Sven’s mother, Delilah. As well as two other sisters and another brother. Farrah, Nefertiti, and Eric. It was unclear how long they had been in Gotham, but it was clear they weren’t from here. There were records of them from France, Egypt, England, Pakistan, Russia, Japan, Mexico, and various cities in the US. Every single Dixon had the same, piercing blue eyes. But that wasn’t the weird part. The weird part was Delilah. It was clear that she was the mother of at least five children. But she didn’t look a day over 21 in every picture. No matter how much he searched and searched and searched, he couldn’t find a single recent image of her.

Eventually, the day came for Grayson to join Bridget Dixon’s adult ballroom dancing class. With all the information he had gathered on the Dixons in the back of his mind, he walked into Bridget’s dance studio just before 20:00 that Monday night and went straight to the front desk.

“How may I help you?” asked the lady at the desk.

“Hi, I registered for the 8:00 class,” he said with a grin. The woman looked up at him and froze. “Dick Grayson,” he went on. 

“The Dick Grayson?” the woman asked. 

He chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “I heard Bridget Dixon is the best teacher in town.” 

“Sh-she is!” the receptionist said. “Wow, such an honor. Uh, yeah. Just go on in through that door. Class will start soon.” She gestured behind her to a door. 

He nodded at her politely. “Thank you,” he said before heading through the door.

The room wasn’t crowded, but that wasn’t to say there weren’t a lot of people. It was a large dance floor, with an entire wall made of mirrors to the right. There were probably about twenty people there, dressed as nicely as he was in suit and tie or nice dresses with heels. 

Of course, everyone turned and stared when he walked in. Everyone, that is, except Bridget. Bridget merely glanced at him, then glanced at everyone staring at him. She rolled her eyes and approached him. “Bridget Dixon,” she said, holding her hand out to shake with a polite smile. “I’ll be your teacher tonight. You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Dick Grayson,” he said with a matching grin, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you. Yeah, I’m new.”

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” she said. “I’m not calling you that first name. Mr. Grayson. This is not some fun little dance class people go to for a date night. You do realize this is a serious class. We enter competitions and win them.”

“I do,” Grayson said with a grin. “I think it’s something I’ll really enjoy.” 

Bridget chuckled. “You say that now,” she said before clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright class, let’s begin!” 

The class went as well as one would expect. Bridget didn’t slow down when Grayson struggled with steps that went beyond his basic training. It was up to his partner to catch him up. Finally, near the end of the two-hour class, Bridget sighed and stopped Grayson and his partner while they had been trying a complicated waltz. 

“You’re doing it all wrong, Mr. Grayson,” she said. She gently pulled Grayson’s partner aside and stepped in. “First of all, you can’t be afraid to touch her,” she said, taking his left arm and placing it firmly upon her waist. He blinked, but kept it there as she brought his right hand up and placed her left one in it. She placed her right hand on his shoulder and nodded for the music to begin again. Her assistant hit the “Play” button, and the violins sang.  
“You’re too unsure of yourself,” she said. “Now, just follow the music.” 

Slowly, Grayson began to dance again. He stumbled a couple times, but Bridget seemed more patient this time. She didn’t criticize him or roll her eyes. Rather, her eyes were locked on his. Soon, Grayson could do nothing but stare back. Slowly, the world around them began to melt away. He forgot where he was and what he was doing. There was only him and her in the whole world. The music was almost too soft to hear, but he kept to the rhythm easily. Was it because he was dancing with her? 

The music stopped. They didn’t notice. Their lips were an inch apart. 

She pulled away.

Reality came crashing back down on him. He was back at the dance studio, everyone in the class staring at them with stupid grins on their faces. Bridget’s face was red as a tomato. He felt his own cheeks growing hot, too. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“That, uh...makes more sense, now...” Grayson said. “Thanks.” 

“Good,” Bridget said. She looked around at the class. “It’s 10:00,” she said. “Class is over.” Slowly, everyone filed out of the room, still grinning stupidly at him and Bridget. He hung back, trying to see if he could engage Bridget in conversation. Hopefully get more information on her family. 

“Have a good night,” Bridget said to her assistant, who was walking out of the building with her husband. Bridget took hold of her bag and looked over at Grayson. “So...what are you waiting for?” she asked.

“I was wondering if anyone was walking you home,” he said. “It’s late, and Gotham is dangerous to wander at night on your own.”

“I’m not going to wander,” she said. “I’m going home. I’ll be fine. But thank you.”

“Bridget,” he said stepping closer to her as she headed for the door. “I know you’re pretty new in town. It really is very dangerous. Please let me walk you home.”

“I can take care of myself,” she insisted.

“I’m not doubting you,” he assured her. “It’s just...I’d really hate for anything to happen to a lovely woman like you.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me,” she said.

“Please?”

She stared at him a moment before sighing. “Fine,” she said. He grinned as he followed her out the door and waited for her to lock it. 

“It’s only a few blocks away,” she said as she put her keys in her bag.

“I have all night,” Grayson said with a grin as they began walking. 

“So, did you enjoy your first class?” she asked with a smirk.

“I did,” he said with a chuckle. He debated bringing up their dance together, but decided against it. “It was really fun.”

“I’m not working you hard enough, then,” she said with a laugh. “But I think you’ll catch up pretty easily,” she added. “Maybe you’ll even be able to be in the next competition.” 

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Bruce had me take a few classes as a kid,” he went on. “Had to learn the basics what with all the charity events and stuff, y’know?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, definitely important,” she agreed.

“So where did you learn to dance?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Classes,” she said. “I fell in love with it the moment my feet hit the dance floor.” 

“That’s great,” he said. “Your parents must be really proud.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. Whatever she was thinking, though, she seemed to let it slide. “I think my mother is,” she said. “I mean, she bought the studio for me.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. When I came to stay with her here in Gotham.”

“Wow. That was really nice of her.”

“You saying Bruce Wayne wouldn’t do the same for you?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Well, no,” Grayson said. “But it’s still a really nice thing to do.”

She shrugged. “Yeah,” she agreed.

They crossed a street in silence.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Grayson asked.

“Countless,” she said. 

He chuckled. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah, really,” she said with a grin. “What about you?”

“Kind of,” he said. “Three. Bruce took four of us orphans in as wards.” 

“Quite the philanthropist,” she pointed out.

Grayson shrugged. “He just has a soft spot for orphans.” 

“I see,” she said.

“What about your mom?” Grayson asked. “She just really likes kids?”

Bridget shrugged. “She likes control,” she said. “She uses sex to control men. But she doesn’t like to use birth control, so when a kid pops out, it pops out.” 

Grayson couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “You can’t be serious?”.

“Very,” Bridget said with a shake of her head. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Do not, ever, get involved with Delilah Dixon. You will regret it.”

He laughed again. “If you say so,” he said. “So, if she has countless children, how old is she?”

“She stopped counting at three hundred ninety-four,” she said.

Grayson stopped dead in his tracks. She patiently paused and looked back at him.

“Wait...what?” he asked.

“She’s pretty close to four hundred these days,” she added. 

“You’re joking,” he said.

“I’m quite serious,” she said.

He laughed. “You’re funny. How old is she really?”

“I told you, I’m not sure,” she said. “But around four hundred years old.”

“C’mon,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “My mother is a Spellcaster,” she said. “She mastered the Immortality Spell at 21 years old. Over three hundred years ago.” 

“You say that so casually....” he pointed out, catching up to her.

She shrugged. “There’s no denying it,” she said. “She looks younger than me.” 

“So...she’s a Spellcaster,” whatever that is. “What about you?”

“I--”

She was interrupted by a large flash of light exploding in front of them. Grayson immediately jumped in front of her, holding an arm out in front of her protectively. He scanned the area, looking for a safe direction for Bridget to run in or a safe place to hide her. 

“Vengeance is sweet, isn’t it, Teekl?” came that annoying, high-pitched voice. 

“You again, you nasty little brat!?” Bridget demanded, dropping her bag. Grayson glanced over at her.

Oh, yeah. He had experienced her abilities. 

“And it looks like we get an extra treat!” Klarion went on. “Dick Grayson himself!”

“Go away before I tear you limb from limb!” Bridget shouted.

Klarion laughed, finally coming into view a few feet ahead of them. “I dare you to try!”

Bridget muttered something in a strange language before a burst of light went right for Klarion. He dodged it easily, and sent his own burst of light towards her. She muttered another quick spell which pulled up an energy shield in front of her that Klarion’s attack hit instead of her. Then she sent another ball of light at him. They went back and forth several times, Grayson watching. Silently, he made his way over towards Klarion--sticking to the shadows. Before he could strike, though, explosions began going off by  
Klarion’s feet.

“Hey, no fair!” Klarion complained. But the explosions continued, getting closer and closer to his feet. He backed up and backed up until he finally frowned, grabbed Teekl, and opened a portal. He jumped into the rift, and disappeared, the portal closing behind him.

The street went calm. Onlookers from the windows of the surrounding buildings began disappearing as it became obvious that the show was over. This was Gotham. They were used to this. 

Bridget blinked and looked around, finally spotting Grayson. “How’d you get all the way over there?” she asked with a laugh. 

Grayson shrugged and chuckled as she grabbed her bag and headed towards him. 

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I didn’t realize you...could do that.”

“Yeah,” Bridget said casually, smirking, “I told you I could take care of myself,” she added.

“My apologies for doubting you,” he said with a bow of his head. She chuckled and they started walking again. 

“So what was Klarion talking about?” Grayson asked, not realizing he shouldn’t know Klarion’s name as a regular citizen until it was too late. He cursed at himself in his head.

“You mean the vengeance thing?” she asked. He nodded. “Well...I kinda...It’s a long story,” she said.

“I have all night,” he said.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Well I don’t,” she said, stopping in front of the door to the building they had reached. “This is my stop. Thank you for walking me home. Good night.”

He grinned. He didn’t really know what went over him just then, but he asked, “Would you like to get coffee sometime?”

She blinked and looked over at him. She stared at him expressionless for a long moment before grinning. “Sounds great,” she said. She pulled out one of her business cards and a pen from her bag. She wrote something on the back of it and handed it to him. “That’s my personal number,” she said. “Text me.”

“I will,” he said with a grin. “Thanks. Good night.”

“Good night.”

With that, she opened the door and walked into the building, disappearing around a corner. Grayson didn’t realize how stupid his grin was as he walked away. He was definitely looking forward to coffee with Bridget.  
\---  
Grayson, an old pro at these girl-games, waited until the next morning to text Bridget from his personal phone.

Hey. It’s Dick Grayson from last night, he typed. He thought about it, erased from last night, and sent it.

Her response was relatively quick. Hey, it said.

Sooo, he typed, coffee?

When? was her response. 

When is good for you?

And so the conversation went on. They settled on later that afternoon, and Grayson went about his day. 

Today was a rather odd day. It was odd in that Bruce was holding a charity event at 11am in the park. In the middle of October. Sometimes, Grayson wondered what on Earth went on in Bruce’s head. Nonetheless, he was happy to take part. He enjoyed the fall air. It was crisp and cool, and felt nice to breathe in. So he dressed in his suit and tie, donned his coat, and made his way towards the park. 

By the time he got there, it was already packed with the news crews. People crowding around each other in coats trying to keep warm while holding their cameras or microphones. They divided themselves apart, however, for him to walk through while they recorded and took pictures of him. They tried asking him questions, but he expertly ignored them. He couldn’t even remember what the event was for. 

He found Bruce over by a fountain. He was standing with a woman. An...an incredibly beautiful woman. Her perfect, blond ringlets were tied up upon her head, and her skin was quite pale. She wore a soft blue dress, and as he approached and she saw him, he saw her piercing blue eyes. Eyes just like Bridget’s and Sven’s.

He knew who she was before he had even reached them.

This was the Delilah Dixon. Bridget and Sven’s mother. The ageless spellcaster. 

“Dick,” Bruce said with a grin as he approached. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Of course,” Grayson said with a grin.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” Bruce went on, gesturing to Delilah. “Dick, this is Delilah Dixon. Ms. Dixon, this is Dick Grayson, the one I was telling you about.”

“A pleasure,” Grayson said, holding his hand out to shake it. She grinned and shook his hand. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” she said, her French accent faint but certainly there. 

He remembered what Bridget had told him last night. “Do not, ever, get involved with Delilah Dixon.” He made a mental note to be very careful around this woman. 

“Bruce!” came a voice a few feet away from them. Bruce excused himself from the conversation and went to go socialize with the rest of the crowd. 

“I heard you went to my daughter’s dance class last night,” Delilah said with an odd grin. A grin that looked like she knew something. 

Grayson feigned a short moment of confusion. “Oh, Bridget Dixon?” he asked. “That’s your daughter?”

She smirked. “Don’t play dumb with me, cherie,” she said.

Now he had a choice. And he had to make it quick. Own up to his lie to this woman rumored to be...something, or continue to lie to her. He chose the former.

“Sorry,” he said with an awkward grin. 

“I heard you two had quite a busy night after class,” she went on.

“Oh, uh...She told you about that?” 

“No, I haven’t seen her today.” 

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Then...how do you know about it?”

She gave him that knowing grin of hers. The same as a moment ago. “I have my ways.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by someone else coming over to talk with him. Eventually, Delilah and Grayson were separated and he didn’t get to speak with her for the rest of the event.  
\---  
That afternoon, he met Bridget at the La Teaurno coffee shop. They greeted each other, ordered coffee, all that good stuff. At first, they chatted about this and that. It took almost an hour of very interesting conversation until Grayson got up the courage to talk about Bridget’s mother.

“So I met your mom this morning,” he said. 

She blinked and looked up at him. “Why?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“She was at Bruce’s charity event this morning,” he explained, sipping his coffee. “He introduced us.”

“Oh,” she said with a shrug, seeming to brush it off.

“Did you...tell her about what happened last night?” he asked. 

“No,” she said. “I don’t answer to her or anything.”

“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s just that...she said something.”

Bridget sighed. “She knew, didn’t she?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod.

“She has her ways,” she said.

“That’s exactly what she told me.”

She nodded. “Sometimes she hears from her contacts that she has all over. Other times, I don’t have the slightest idea how she finds out.” She shrugged. “She just does.”

Grayson resisted the urge to ask if maybe Delilah might have had a hand in the attack. That was Nightwing thinking, not Dick Grayson thinking. Besides, what mother would have her own daughter attacked? By Klarion, no less?

“Anyway,” Bridget said. “It’s over and done with. I’m sure my mother was just trying to psych you out.”

He blinked. “Why would she do that?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Because she’s a bitch,” she replied with a matching chuckle. 

They laughed and continued talking about other topics. Grayson learned about Bridget’s endless list of brothers and sisters, all living in different areas of the world. The ones he had researched were only the ones living here in Gotham, apparently. Thinking about what he had learned about Delilah Dixon last night, though, this wasn’t such surprising news. 

On the same note, Bridget learned about Grayson’s personal life. About Damian, Jason, and Tim. She learned about his short-lived circus career and got a brief overview of his parents’ deaths. Grayson wasn’t sure how he managed to tell her about that last one. But she was understanding to say the least, and changed the subject quickly. 

Later that day, Grayson couldn’t help but find himself distracted. Never before had he been so caught up in a young woman. He knew he had to see her again.

Just as he was thinking that, his phone went off. A text from none other than Bridget herself.

Hey, it said. My mother wants me to go to a Wayne event tonight. Will you be there?

He couldn’t help but grin.

Yeah, he texted back. See you there?

Sure, she replied. 

He accomplished nothing for the rest of the day. 

That night’s event was crowded, to be sure. All Wayne events were, to be honest. The difference, though, was that children were at this event. Well-dressed, seen-but-not-heard children, but children nonetheless. Which meant that Sven was there with Bridget, their mother, and a couple other siblings.

It was late when Grayson finally broke away from his admirers to find Bridget.

“Care to dance?” Grayson asked, holding his hand out to her. She blinked and turned away from her mother to look at him. She raised an eyebrow. “You gonna keep me waiting all night?” he asked with a smirk.

She smirked back and took his hand, allowing him to lead her out of her chair and on to the dance floor. 

The music was slow, perfect for a simple waltz. They joined hands and began the memorized steps, staring in each other’s eyes.

It wasn’t long before the world melted away again. When the music faded and there was nothing left in the world except him and her. When he leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Tell me this is as magical for you as it is for me.”

She didn’t respond. But she did grin as a small blush colored her cheeks. He leaned in again, and she followed. Their lips were a centimeter apart.

She pulled away.

The spell was broken.

And they were back in the ballroom. 

She pulled away from him and gave a curtsy. It took him a long moment to realize the music had stopped. 

“Excuse me,” she said, turning and heading for the balcony.

He stared after her, not noticing everyone watching his every move. He spotted Delilah also heading for the balcony, calm and casual as always. He sighed and stepped off the dance floor, now feeling very self-conscious. 

Guess it wasn’t as magical for her as it was for him. 

“You better go after her before she gets into her head,” came Sven’s voice. Grayson blinked and looked down to see Sven standing by his elbow.

“What?” he asked.

“Bridget,” Sven said. “You better go get her before my mom ruins everything.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You like her,” came another voice. It was one of the other children that had been with the Dixons. She wore a hijab, and looked about 13. She was standing on his other side. Were they ambushing him or something? “And she likes you. Go after her before you lose her forever.”

Grayson shook his head with a grin. “No,” he said. “That, children, was rejection. She’s not interested in me.”

“Yes she is,” Sven said.

“She just doesn’t know how to show it,” the girl insisted.

“Guys, I appreciate it,” Grayson said, “but I’m not going to force myself on her. She pulled away. She rejected me.” He shrugged. “Oh, well.”

“Please,” the girl went on. “Just go talk to her.”

He chuckled. 

“Trust us,” Sven went on. “Just one more try.”

He sighed. “OK,” he said. “One more.” He nodded to the two of them and began walking towards the balcony.

Outside, he saw Bridget leaning against the rail, Delilah standing by her side. Bridget was facing away from him, and Delilah was silent as she watched him approach. 

“Bridget?” he asked, eyeing the strange look Delilah was giving him. She turned to him and his eyes widened. She looked ready to cry. “Bridget, are you--”

“I gotta go,” Bridget said, closing her eyes and pushing past him, rushing back inside. 

“Wait!” he stepped towards her, but Sven’s words repeated in his head and made him pause. “Before she gets into her head.” He turned to Delilah. “What’d you say to her?” he asked.

“I do not tolerate others playing with my children’s hearts,” she replied, her voice cold as ice. 

The truth of the matter dawned on him, and he raced after Bridget.

“Bridget!” he called, finally catching her outside the front doors. “Bridget wait!” He took her arm. She turned and faced him, her face red with tears. Her makeup, however, still perfect. 

“Leave me alone, Grayson,” she said.

“Bridget, I love you,” he said. “Please.”

She pulled out of his grasp. “There’s no such thing as love.”

“Bridget--” 

“No!” she cried, turning and stepping away. She muttered a spell and, before Grayson could say another word, she was gone.  
\----  
Now, having done this line of work for most of his life, Grayson was used to keeping his mind on the mission when he was on a mission. No matter what was going on in his personal life. But suddenly, things were different.

Bridget was different.

He couldn’t keep his mind off of her. How much he wanted to talk to her again. Prove to her that he was real. That this love was real. It was even worse because he refused to disrespect her choices and “chase” her. Nonetheless, he paid for his distraction.

On a mission, he got his ass handed to him. Left leg broken, right arm crushed. He was officially bedridden. He stayed at Wayne Manor as he healed, sleeping more often than not. He had dreams of Bridget coming into his room and leaving flowers. He would wake up, and there they were. Always the same kind. He never caught her, though.

One afternoon, his phone rang. Loud and annoying, it woke him up. “Hello?” he answered, his voice thick with sleep.

“You have to talk to Bridget.” It was Sven’s voice. Just like him to avoid the pleasantries. 

Grayson frowned and shook his head. “What?” he asked.

“You have to talk to Bridget.” This was the girl's voice this time. The one from that night. What was this, a 3-way? 

“Look, guys, I appreciate your concern but--”

“She’s not the same,” Farrah went on. “She’s miserable. Just ask Eric. He knows her better than any of us and he says she’s not OK.”

“She made her choice,” Grayson insisted. “I’m not going to interfere with that.”

“I like you respecting her,” came a new voice. Grayson didn’t recognize it, it was a young man’s. “But you don’t see her every day. You don’t see how distracted she is. She’s not OK.” 

“Who is that?” Grayson asked.

“Eric,” Sven replied. 

“You need to talk to her,” the voice dubbed Eric continued. 

“Look, guys--how did you even get my number?” Grayson asked.

“Hacked Bridget’s phone,” Sven said simply. “Talk to her. Please.”

“Look, I’m kinda stuck in bed,” Grayson pointed out.

“You have her number,” the girl insisted.

“She won’t answer my call,” Grayson insisted.

“She will,” Eric said.

“Besides, don’t you see her every day?” Sven asked. 

“What?” Grayson asked.

There was a faint voice in the background. Delilah calling Sven and Farrah’s names. 

“We gotta go,” the girl said. “Talk to Bridget.” With that, the line went dead.

Grayson stared at his phone. He sees her every day?  
\----  
“Alfred?” Grayson asked the next day as the butler was clearing his tray. “Who leaves these flowers?”

“She’s never given her name,” Alfred said. “She’s a lovely young woman, with curly brown hair. She says she’s a friend meaning well.” 

“I know you know her name,” Grayson said with a laugh. “You wouldn’t let her in if you didn’t.” 

“Indeed, but I think you know who it is, too.” He bowed his head. “The flowers are called peonies. I would look them up if I were you.” With that, he took the tray and left the room. 

Grayson rolled his eyes with a grin. Alfred was right, though. He pulled out his phone and began researching peonies when he caught his door opening out of the corner of his eye. 

“Forget something?” he asked, but it wasn’t Alfred that stepped through the doorway.

Bridget blinked over at him, another set of peonies in her hand. She turned upon seeing him awake.

“Wait!” he called.

She paused.

“Please...come in.”

There was a long moment. Finally, she turned back and came in, closing the door behind her. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said. He grinned at her. “I thought you hated me.”

She rolled her eyes. Wordlessly, she brought the flowers over to the window sill and left them there. 

“So why are you giving me all these flowers?” he went on.

“Is it a crime to be nice?” she asked sourly.

He chuckled. “No, I guess not. But still.”

“But nothing,” she said, turning and heading for the door.

“No, wait!” 

She stopped, but didn’t look back at him.

“Bridget...I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

“That sucks,” she said.

“Tell me you feel the same.”

She was silent.

“Please.”

“There’s no such thing as love,” she recited.

“I’m not talking about love,” he said. “Dammit, Bridget, we just met a month ago. I’m asking you to give us a chance. To just try. If love happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. But don’t just give up on us if you feel something like I do.”

She was silent as she processed his words. He waited patiently for an answer.

She turned, her eyes welling with tears. She headed over to him and sat beside him on the bed. 

“You’re not going to get any special treatment just because you’re the Dick Grayson,” she pointed out.

He grinned. “I wouldn’t expect anything like that from you.” 

She leaned in, and their lips met. 

The End.


End file.
